


Nightshade (Off the Garden Path)

by aldebaran26, njw



Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [19]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Be My Robin, Conspiracy, Friends to Lovers, Homelessness, Humor, JayTimWeek2021, M/M, Multiverse, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Nightshade, brief angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-27 09:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30120564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldebaran26/pseuds/aldebaran26, https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Tim blinks away tears as he strokes one of the yellow and red flowers, eyes widening as it rotates on its stem to follow his hand. “Gloriosa superba,” he murmurs. “Poisonous in every part of the plant.”“You know your plants,” a smooth, low voice says from behind him.He turns, hand still poised next to the flower, and blinks up at Pamela Isley.*For thetumblr Jaytim Week 2021day four FREE DAY prompt (I went with “Be my Robin”).
Relationships: Tim Drake & Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1356295
Comments: 37
Kudos: 240
Collections: JayTim Week 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is fully drafted and will update weekly on Fridays until complete.
> 
> As always, thank you to the wonderful Aldebaran, who created all the adorable art for this and gave me permission to write a story around it.

The blast of the air conditioner and quiet hum of the car engine register faintly on Tim’s senses as he stares out the window, gaze unfocused on the scenery flashing by outside. He holds himself very still, his mother’s instructions on how to behave around adults echoing in his mind. The slow, looming realization that what his mother wants doesn’t matter anymore—will never matter again—broaches the surface of his tumultuous thoughts and he shoves it down again.

His hands are trembling, he notes with distant surprise. He tucks them under his legs. Mother never wanted him to show his fear.

Beside him, Mr. Harrison clears his throat. Always awkward around his clients’ child, the lawyer seems more uncomfortable than ever, looking every moment as though he’s afraid Tim will burst into tears. “We just need to stop by Drake Industries,” he murmurs. “There are a few things I need to pick up. It’s too hot to leave you in the car, so you might as well come along.”

Tim nods, grateful for the numbness that covers the conflicted feelings he’s going to have to face eventually. After all, his parents just died. He should be sad, shouldn’t he? And yet…

He feels as though he barely knew them.

Maybe Jack and Janet Drake loved him, once. He can dimly remember laughter and hugs and time spent together as a family. That all ended the night five years ago when his parents took him to the circus, and lights and music turned to horror and screams before their eyes.

He still has nightmares about it. Sometimes, he wonders if it haunts his parents, too. Or maybe they just couldn’t deal with a child too damaged by the experience to sleep through the night.

Either way, they weren’t anything like close.

The car rolls to a halt and he mechanically unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out when Mr. Harrison opens his door. He follows on autopilot, keeping his eyes on the floor as they pass desks and offices, each filled with curious, sometimes sympathetic eyes. Mr. Harrison coughs as they finally stop outside of what he recognizes as his mother’s office, with her name and title on the door. “I’ll just be next door, meeting with a few of the board members to deliver directions based on your parents’ expressed wishes.”

He seems to want a response, so Tim looks up and nods. “Yes, sir.”

The old man clears his throat, blinking rapidly and looking away before nodding sharply. Straightening his stooped shoulders as much as he can, he steps through the connecting door into the adjoining office, where Tim’s father used to work.

Finally alone for the first time since the doorbell rang earlier and he opened it to see his parents’ lawyer, looking at him with a grim, sorrowful expression, Tim moves to his mother’s desk and crumples into her chair with a shaky sigh. He buries his face in his hands, the heels pressing against his eyes as his teeth clench. What is he supposed to do now?

His tenuous dreams—that maybe his parents just aren’t good with children, and he might be able to impress them enough to be interested in him once he grows up—are shattered. His future is uncertain, but from what Mr. Harrison said in the car, the lawyer is now his legal guardian and plans to look for suitable placement for him once things settle down.

By that, he’s pretty sure the man is referring to his parents’ funeral and whatever legal procedures are needed to settle their estate. A faint trickle of worry manages to break through the logjam building up behind the numbed shock, and it occurs to Tim that he’s now worth money. A lot of money.

Barely aware of what he’s doing, Tim reaches for the switch under the desk to activate the intercom between the two offices. He makes sure to set it for audio only, so there’s no chance of the microphone in Janet’s office picking anything up and giving him away.

Mr. Harrison is talking. “—likely to start showing up in the next few hours to days. And once the wreckage is found, it should be simple enough to have them declared dead by reason of imminent peril, even without a body.”

“And our people are sure to suppress all evidence of tampering with the plane?” Tim places that voice after a moment. Mr. Smith, the chief finance officer. After Tim’s father and mother—the chief executive officer and chief operating officer, respectively—he has the most power in the company.

Tim’s throat is tight as the implications filter through his shock. They’re talking as though—

There’s an oily laugh. It’s Mr. Jenkins, another board member. “You worry too much. We’ve got it handled, and we have enough people bribed to cover up all three deaths.”

Three deaths. Are they talking about the pilot? No, that doesn’t make sense. The company jet never flies without two pilots and at least one flight attendant, so if it crashed then at least five people probably lost their lives. He puzzles away at that incongruity, choosing to focus on the small puzzle rather than the gut-wrenching implications of… well, everything else they’re talking about.

Mr. Harrison clears his throat. “There may be no need to cover up the third for quite some time, if at all. As I said before, our best course of action is simply to continue to draw down the accounts, to which we will have full access as long as Timothy is a minor and my legal ward. Removing him from the picture early would be… unwise.”

Mr. Jenkins snorts. “This is Gotham—we could disappear the brat tomorrow and no one would notice for a long damn time, if ever. I say we get rid of him, before he gets old enough to go poking his nose into what doesn’t concern him and start to ask questions, like his damn harpy of a mother.”

Oh, god. Tim’s throat closes up completely and his eyes well up with stinging tears as all his growing suspicions crystalize into certainty. His parents were murdered, and their killers are in the next room calmly planning to finish the embezzlement of their company, and quite possibly the murder of their heir.

He can’t even move for a moment, but then the horrifying thought of having to get back into that car and stay with Mr. Harrison breaks through the shock and he starts planning. First, he needs a way out. He won’t be safe with the lawyer, even if he seems in favor of keeping Tim alive for now. The man might change his mind, or be outvoted by his partners in crime.

Second, he has to find a safe place, somewhere he can hide out—at least until this crime is exposed and everyone involved brought to justice. That brings him to his third task. He needs to find a way to gather evidence and get it to the right people, which won’t be easy. Not only is he nine, an age at which everyone he meets will consider him a child and dismiss anything he says, these guys implied they’ve bought the silence of someone in authority. Possibly multiple someones.

How is he supposed to fix this if he doesn’t even know who to trust?

Even as he asks himself that question, a wave of relief rolls through him as he realizes he knows the answer. It was only a few weeks ago, when he slipped out to take a few pictures of Gotham’s heroes in action, that he figured it out. The memory of that night at the circus served him well, for once; the sight of Robin moving through an acrobatic move so difficult as to be impossible for everyone but three known people, two of whom are deceased, gave him the clue he needed to figure out Robin’s identity, and through him, Batman’s. He never thought he would use the knowledge, or that it would be so critical to his own life.

Bruce Wayne is Batman. And Batman is the only one who can help him.

General course of action decided, Tim rises from the chair on shaky legs. He reaches down to thumb off the switch so as not to tip them off that he overheard their plans. If he’s lucky, they’ll think he just slipped away to go cry in an empty office or something, and waste enough time looking for him here that he’ll be able to lose himself in Gotham’s alleyways. If he’s very careful and very lucky, he should be able to find somewhere to hide until tonight, when he’ll be able to flag Batman down on patrol and tell him everything.

Batman takes care of innocents, especially children. He’ll know somewhere safe Tim can go until this is over. With that thought in mind, Tim flips the switch and glances at the interior window to check if the coast is clear.

It’s not. For a moment, he thinks he’s seeing things, his own grief and stress making him imagine Bruce Wayne is striding past the window right now. As he stares, eyes wide, the businessman continues on his way and disappears from sight.

It takes him a heartbeat to realize the only thing he might be headed toward in that direction is his father’s office. Well, his former office, now.

With a gathering sense of dread, Tim reaches down and flips the switch back on.

“—so glad you brought me in on this,” Bruce Wayne is saying in his glib, charming voice. “I’ve had my eye on Drake Industries for a while now, and I’m looking forward to coming to an amicable agreement with you. I’m sure we can all benefit.”

“There are a few loose ends to take care of still,” Mr. Harrison says, a note of caution in his voice.

“And I’m sure you have those well in hand,” Mr. Wayne replies, a thread of darkness edging into his voice. “Now, about those proposals—”

Tim slams the switch down and stumbles over to the door, fumbling at the knob before he manages to close his hand around it. He freezes, but no one comes rushing into the hall to check on him. He forces himself to wait another thirty seconds before carefully opening the door and stepping out of the office. The hallway is empty, thankfully, so there’s no one to see him as he hurries to the stairs. His best chance of leaving without being observed is the stairwell. No one uses it, not when the elevators are sleek and fast and Janet Drake’s gimlet eye is always searching for weaknesses when she makes one of her flying visits to the office, often without warning. Sweat stains are not professional.

Besides, the stairs open out at the top onto a rooftop maintenance door, and he knows his parents’ codes. He slips through the door and shivers in the bright sunlight. It’s still hot and muggy outside, so the shiver he experiences isn’t anything to do with the cold.

Part of his mind tries to think about what just happened, what he learned, and he forcibly derails that line of thought in favor of planning out his best chances of survival in a city where he has to assume anyone could be hostile. His first move is to get as far from the financial district as possible and find a place to hole up. He sets out heading north, clambering over the low concrete wall that separates the rooftop of Drake Industries from the next building over, the headquarters of a financial services corporation. He should be able to make his way down the whole block like this because all of the commercial buildings are adjoining and roughly the same height.

Robinson Park comes to mind immediately because it’s large and lush, with plenty of hiding places, and Poison Ivy is known to be protective of children. He dismisses that idea with regret as he belatedly remembers Pamela Isley is in Arkham right now. The park would be far more dangerous in her absence.

He can’t go somewhere in a safe part of town, not without risking them finding him. If they have _Batman_ on their side—his brain breaks off in a fuzz of static for a while as he deals with the cognitive dissonance of having to worry about his greatest hero coming after him to break the law, to _hurt_ him.

His heart pounds as he hurries, terrified at any moment he’ll feel a heavy grip on his shoulder and hear a gravelly voice in his ear. He doesn’t quite believe it when he reaches the end of the block and tests the rooftop access door of the last building in the line, a commercial rental with multiple tenants, all of whom have share rooftop access and a rooftop garden where employees tend to eat their lunches. Fortunately, no one’s there this late in the day. Even better, the access door is still unlocked. He pretends he belongs as he passes a couple of surprised-looking people on the stairs, nodding a greeting. Hopefully, they’ll assume he’s just some bored kid whose parent brought him to work, coming back from stretching his legs in the garden.

No one asks any questions. Before he knows it, he’s at street level and stepping through the automatic door to submerge himself in the ebb and flow of the crowds moving through the city. His heart rate doesn’t slow down even when he’s six blocks away, weaving a circuitous path through the city and avoiding the cameras he knows about. He can’t be too careful. After all, his ability to ensure his own survival got exponentially more difficult when he realized Bruce Wayne is involved in the plot.

In the end, it’s not careful planning or his own knowledge of Gotham’s hidden nooks and crannies that saves him. He just happens to be passing through Grant Park, still heading generally north and pondering his options, when a passing freight train idles for a few minutes on the tracks. An open-sided railcar with several huge wooden boxes strapped onto it catches his eye.

He’s already scrambled up onto the railcar, crouching against one of the boxes, before he fully thinks through the ramifications of his actions. He can’t leave Gotham. Staying close is the only way he’ll be able to gather the evidence needed to expose his parents’ murder and reclaim his own inheritance—or whatever’s left of it by the time he manages to stop those greedy jerks. He bites his lip as the train winds its way north through the fashion district, passing Miller Harbor without slowing down. Crossing the Sprang gives him vertigo, the lack of sides on the flatcar and the sheer drop to the river below making his stomach swoop.

He’s starting to try to figure out how to jump safely from a moving train when it finally, mercifully, slows down again. It comes to a halt just on the other side of the Sprang, and he hears voices and rustling sounds farther down the line. Scooting to the edge of the flatcar, he hops down on the opposite side from where the voices are, glancing over his shoulder to see a number of men unloading crates from one of the cars into a nearby warehouse. None of them seem to spot him.

Good.

Tim weighs his options for a long moment, suddenly very aware of his own vulnerability. As far as he can see to the west are rough, rusted rooftops and exposed infrastructure of the industrial zone that blends into the cheap tenements and run-down houses of the Bowery in a way it never would in the more moneyed parts of town. To the east is Robbinsville, with far less crime and, unfortunately, a much higher chance of him being noticed and reported as a lost child wandering around.

He heads west. As he shrinks into the shadows of a likely-looking warehouse, with broken windows and a strong sense of abandonment, he finally lets his mind return to the enormity of the day’s discoveries.

Tim thinks about Bruce Wayne, _Batman,_ being in on his parents’ deaths, and the part of his heart that believes in heroes screams in denial. It hurts. He keeps walking.

The rest of his heart will just have to be enough from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tiny Tim, stunned and overwhelmed by news of parents’ deaths:** *Is still smart enough to sniff out conspiracy and rabbit before their murderers can get him, too*  
>  **Drakes’ Murderers:** *Too busy planning how they’re gonna spend all his inheritance to notice him sneaking away*  
>  **Tiny Tim, tremulous hope in his large, innocent eyes:** “I can go to Batman! He’ll solve the crime and save me—” *Spots Bruce Wayne schmoozing with his parents’ murderers* “Everyone is awful” *Jumps a train, transforms midair into an adorable street urchin circa the 1800s* “Wait, did I just turn into a newsie?”


	2. Chapter 2

The warehouse isn’t empty. “Meep,” Tim says as opens the door to what he thinks might have once been an office and then ducks just in the nick of time to dodge a projectile. Whatever it was came flying right at where his head just was. He stumbles backwards, yelping as he trips and falls on his rear just outside the office door.

The door flies the rest of the way open. “You better get the fuck outta here, or I’ll—” The angry voice breaks off, and Tim’s surprised to realize it’s just another kid. The other boy, who isn’t much bigger than he is, is staring at him with a wary expression, a glint of interest in his sharp eyes.

“Sorry,” Tim whispers, his throat dry. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here. I’ll just find somewhere else to sleep.”

The boy steps forward, a frown gathering on his brow as he looks Tim over. He has black hair, and it’s hard to tell in the shadowy interior of the warehouse, but there seem to be smudges of dirt on the exposed skin of his hands and face. The clothes he’s wearing don’t quite fit.

Tim swallows, suddenly very aware of his own expensive clothes and shoes, clean hair and face, and the fact that he had a big lunch not six hours ago. He wonders how long it will be before he has any of those things again. He’s seen the way things work on the streets, and he knows that desperate people do terrible things sometimes. Even kids.

He’ll be lucky if he gets away from this encounter with just his shoes stolen. He stares at the other boy, eyes wide, and tries to figure out the best way to escape if he tries to hurt him.

The boy finishes his perusal of Tim’s appearance and then snorts, crossing his arms and glaring at him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, princess? Running away from Mommy and Daddy because they wouldn’t buy you a goddamn pony? You better turn around and walk right back the way you came, because this is the worst damn idea you ever had, and if you ain’t careful, it’ll be the last.”

“What?” Tim blinks and shakes his head. “I can’t? I mean, my parents are dead now, and I don’t even like ponies. One bit me once when Father put me on it for a photo op and I was crying in the picture. Mother wasn’t pleased.” 

“Fuckin’ rich—wait, didja just say your parents are dead? Then who’s supposed to be takin’ care of you?”

“The family lawyer. He’s my guardian.” As long as Tim keeps things pretty vague, this boy probably won’t be able to put two and two together to figure out who he is. At least not until much later, if and when his disappearance makes it into the papers. Even then, Tim should be long gone, safe in a new hiding place. Hopefully.

The boy steps closer, freezing when Tim flinches, and then cautiously settles himself to sit cross-legged on the floor a few feet away. He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs gustily. “Shit, I suck at this kind thing.” He looks at Tim again. “Okay, so your folks kicked the bucket, and you got saddled with some old fart who you probably barely know. I get it, that sucks. But seriously, it’s way the hell better than what’ll happen to you out here on your own—”

“He killed my parents and he’s trying to kill me,” Tim blurts out, because he’s tired and hungry and his life is collapsing around him in a way he isn’t sure he can survive, let alone fix.

The other boy stares at him, eyes wide. “Well, shit.” He blinks, then raises an arm in an awkward gesture. “You, uh… need a hug?”

Sniffing, Tim scoots across the space between them and falls into the other boy’s side, then promptly bursts into tears. After a moment, he feels a hand gently patting him on the back, just a little rougher than is comfortable. It’s great. He sniffs louder. “I’m getting snot all over your shirt,” he says, wiping his face on the coarse material and firmly not thinking about its state of cleanliness.

“Trust me, it’s had worse,” the boy says in a longsuffering voice. “Say, what’s your name, kid?”

Just his first name should be safe enough. “Tim,” he says, trying not to think about the “worse” and what, exactly, he’s rubbing his face all over. “And quit calling me a kid. I’m pretty sure we’re the same age. What’s your name, anyway?”

There’s a pause before the other boy answers. It lasts long enough that he lifts his head to blink wet eyes at him. The boy’s eyes—light-colored, he sees now that they’re this close—soften as he looks at him, and his lips twist in a wry smile. “Jason. And like hell we’re the same age, I’m twelve. I can tell you’re practically a baby.” He scowls. “Why the fuck would your guardian wanna off you? Got a fat trust fund?”

Tim sighs. “A company. Or at least, my parents did. Plus investments and my trust fund and the house and—”

Jason whistles. “Damn, kiddo, you’re loaded. Still, guy must be a bag of dicks to wanna hurt you.” His arm tightens around him in what might be an unconscious protective gesture. “Can’t help but notice you forgot to mention how old you are. What are you, eight?”

“I’m nine!” That’s a whole _year_ older than eight.

“Fuck,” Jason says very softly, his arm tightening again. After a moment, he straightens, taking a deep breath. “Okay, so he’s what we’re gonna do. I know a place where Robin comes by pretty regular—the Dillon Bridge over the Sprang, just six blocks away. I’ll get you set up nice and comfy in my squat, then I’ll go flag down Robin and we’ll tell him—”

“No!” Tim says, twisting in panic and clutching at Jason’s arm. “No, you can’t!” His heart is racing and the adrenaline crashing through his veins is making him jittery.

“Why…?” Jason stares at him, eyebrows lowering.

“Because Batman’s in on it,” Tim whispers, closing his eyes and ducking his head.

“What the actual fuck?” Jason says flatly, then stands up. Hauling Tim to his feet, he tugs him into the manager’s office and shuts the door firmly behind them, then locks it for good measure. “C’mon, let’s get you settled and then you can tell me the whole damn story.”

Twenty minutes later, Tim nestles into the warm nest of tattered blankets and old clothes Jason tucked him into as soon as he saw him sway on his feet. It’s kind of bumpy and there’s definitely an odor, but it’s warm and he’s so tired he’s pretty sure he could sleep sitting up at this point.

The office is surprisingly comfortable, with the blanket nest, a stash of bottled water and some canned goods in the desk, and a sturdy door with a heavy deadbolt. There’s even a ventilation shaft Jason showed him, big enough for either of them to scoot into and escape out the side of the building if anyone ever forces their way in. The rest of the warehouse isn’t too bad, either, from what he saw of it. There’s an intact roof to keep the rain off, for all that the dust and trash covering the floor wouldn’t make it particularly inviting for anyone with somewhere better to go.

It makes him wonder why Jason seems to be living here alone. “How do you keep other people away from this place?” he asks in a sleepy voice, tired out from his day and from the long conversation they just had about his circumstances.

Trusting Jason might turn out to be a mistake, but somehow he just couldn’t stop the words from flowing out once they started. At least he managed to hold back Batman’s identity. No matter what the man is involved in, Tim has no right to expose that. Not to mention doing so could get Dick Grayson hurt, too, and as far as Tim knows, Dick is innocent in all of this. It’s not his fault if his guardian is neck-deep in the crime he claims to be stopping.

To his surprise, Jason chuckles, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s kinda dumb, but fuck it, whatever works. I made everyone think the place is haunted.” He turns to the desk, pulls out a bottle of water, and hands it to Tim. “This one’s fresh—I usually just refill mine at the drinking fountains in the park, but I try to keep a spare around. Go ahead and drink.”

Taking him at his word, Tim cracks the top and takes a sip. The cool, refreshing burst of water in his parched mouth has him drinking deeply, sucking down half the bottle before he stops to take a breath. Then what Jason said percolates and he blinks, staring at the other boy in befuddlement. “Wait, how did you make the place look haunted?”

Jason snickers. “You’d be surprised what a few blinking flashlights and white sheets at odd hours can do. People around here are really damn superstitious—it’d be hard not to be, considering this is fucking Gotham and the unimaginable anywhere else is a regular Tuesday, here.”

“So people really just avoid the place?” That seems too easy.

He shrugs. “I mean, Robin did come poke around once. I think he heard the rumors and thought a gang might be using the place to move weapons or drugs or something. When he opened the door and found me crouched down holding a flashlight, he just stared for a while, then walked out. I booked it to one of my backup boltholes ‘cause I thought he’d bring down the Bat on me or turn me over to CPS or something. Instead, he just stashed a bunch of canned food in here and dropped off some blankets. Found it all when I came back the next day.”

“Wow,” Tim says. That seems really kind. “He didn’t try to bring you in?”

Jason shakes his head. “Not really. He gave me a card for one of the homes—you know, the ones run by the Martha Wayne Foundation? But I ain’t about to trust ‘em. I’ve been in a home before, and lemme tell you, it ain’t pretty.” Reaching into the desk again, he retrieves a couple of cans of beans, pops open the pull tabs, and hands one over to Tim. “Careful of the edges, they’re sharp.”

“Thanks,” Tim says, accepting his can of cold beans. He immediately dips in using the water bottle cap as a tiny spoon. He looks up, mouth full, only to see Jason frozen, staring at him as he holds out a plastic spoon. He swallows. “Oh.” Blushing, he accepts the spoon and swaps it out with the bottle cap.

Jason stares at him, then grins. “Guess you’re not completely soft and helpless, kid. At least you’re kinda resourceful.”

Tim rolls his eyes. He’s basically taken care of himself since he was four, and for a long time he was paranoid about using his mother’s prized china and sterling silverware. He knows how to eat cold food out of cans using makeshift utensils. “Thanks? I feel like there was as much insult as compliment in there.”

“Lesson one of living on the streets, kiddo—take what you can get.”

Well, that seems like solid advice. Tim nods.

It doesn’t take them long to fall into a routine. Jason looks out for Tim, protecting him from the various pitfalls and dangers that face anyone on the streets, let alone a kid. He even gives him swearing lessons, working on his diction and accent so he doesn’t stick out quite so much and draw the wrong kind of attention to himself. In turn, Tim does whatever he can to help make both their lives easier. They dress him in some of Jason’s spare clothes and sell his expensive clothes and shoes, helping him blend in better.

Tim can’t help but notice how hard things are for people who have nothing, even worse than he realized when he used to go out to take photos of Batman and Robin. Everything’s always dirty. He and Jason, their home, even the very water and air. The choking smoke boiling out of the factories along the river makes him cough, and he stares at the film on the water and wonders why things have to be this way.

They spend a lot of time at the library, where Jason devours book after book while taking advantage of the heating. The running water in the bathrooms is very useful, although only the most generous would term the spot-washing they do there as a shower.

Tim’s pretty sure he’s developed his own aroma by now. He doesn’t really care. He occupies himself with books about programming, chemistry, ecology, and plants. It’s awesome that he managed to connect with Jason, but he still considers Robinson Park a good backup plan for if they ever need somewhere else to live. And if they do, it would be smart to have a working knowledge of types of plants and the environment. The best way to appeal to her will be to take an interest in the things she cares about. 

It all turns out to be really interesting, actually. The problems facing the environment worldwide are pretty scary, and the situation in Gotham is worse than almost anywhere else, but people are coming up with awesome, innovative solutions every day. He reads a lot of science journals. At first, all he can understand are the abstracts, but as he learns more about the topics, he finds himself delving deeper into the articles themselves.

One really cool thing is, he keeps stumbling across articles with Pamela Isley’s byline in various scientific journals. He had no idea she still maintains a prominent reputation as a respected research scientist. Apparently, the academic world is pretty forgiving of her eccentricities as long as she keeps producing good work. Her phytoremediation ideas for curing contaminated sites are particularly interesting, sending Tim’s mind spinning through theories and half-formed plans he wishes he could bring to life. It’s impossible without some serious funds behind it, though. Money he has no access to for the time being.

Maybe someday. For now, he’s still just hanging on.

Sometimes, Jason makes him stay home while he goes out, and comes back hours later with warm food, new shoes, medicine, or whatever else they need. He never says where he got the money and that scares Tim, but he knows better than to confront him about it. The older boy has done so much for him. If Jason doesn’t want him to know what he’s doing, then the least he can do is accept his wishes and be grateful.

Well, that and try to figure out how to get hold of at least some of his own money so he can actually help. He only tries to access some of his parents’ accounts using a computer at the library once. The password has changed and he stops after the first try, paranoid that the people looking for him will know about the access attempt and somehow trace the IP address to figure out where he is.

Once in a while he and Jason get hold of a newspaper, and he watches as the headlines about the Drakes slowly sink from the first page to a footnote. His disappearance barely rates a mention because the authorities are apparently treating him as a runaway. Which… he is, technically, but what with the murders and all he’s pretty sure it’s a special case.

They see Batman and Robin sometimes, but Jason’s always quick to move in front of him to shield him from their view. They don’t look down, anyway. Supplies keep showing up regularly in the manager’s office where they live, and each time there’s a new card for a children’s home. That was a little concerning at first, but Robin never confronts either of them in person so they figure it’s okay. He probably doesn’t even realize there are two kids living here now and not one.

Once he’s been living with Jason for a whole month, Tim starts to hope that maybe the heat’s died down and there isn’t anyone actively looking for him.

He begins to relax more, leaving Jason’s side for longer periods to search for loose change, poke around in the trash—people throw away perfectly good things sometimes! He once found a barely-used raincoat, with gift cards in the pockets that still had money on them!

Granted, the gift cards were to a coffee shop, an online-only store, and a fancy restaurant, so they weren’t necessarily the most useful finds, but he and Jason made it work. The coffee shop also sold bakery and deli items, the online-only store delivered their package to the library where the sympathetic librarian held it for them behind the desk, and Jason managed to sell the gift card for the fancy restaurant to someone who could actually use it without drawing as much suspicion as a couple of ragged kids.

Life is almost bearable again. So of course, that’s when his new foundations crumble, leaving him adrift again.

Tim edges out of the warehouse, shivering in the darkness. It’s pitch black out here and it’s so cold, but Jason hasn’t come home yet and he promised he’d be back by now. It’s scary, but Jason might be _hurt_ and Tim has to find him. What if he needs help? After everything he’s done for Tim, he couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t there for Jason the one time the other boy needed help.

He heads east, following the vague description Jason gave him of where he’s supposed to be working tonight. It’s one of those nights, the times when his friend leaves for hours and comes back with either money or goods and no explanation for how he got them. The ground is slick from the recent rain and he eyes the looming clouds with distrust, hoping he’ll be able to find Jason and get him home before the next cloudburst.

There’s nothing. No matter how many streets and alleyways he searches, he can’t find any sign of his friend. The rain starts pouring down and his teeth are chattering, but he doesn’t stop until the sullen glow in the east tells him dawn is near. When he curls up in the blanket nest alone, chilled and achingly alone, he finally lets himself cry.

Jason is gone.

It’s not until the next day that he hears the whispers on the streets. Some kid was brave or stupid enough to try to boost Batman’s tires, and the Bat caught him.

Just like that, all the little clues fall into place in Tim’s mind. Jason slipping away and telling him not to follow, looking vaguely guilty when he comes back later with food and money. Tim had thought he was doing some unsavory kind of work, but… Stealing tires makes a lot of sense.

In a way, so does him targeting Batman. With what Tim told him about Batman’s hypocrisy, Jason would probably enjoy sticking it to the guy in whatever small way he could. He’d get a kick out of feeding Tim with money made off selling the Batmobile tires, as vengeance for Batman trying to steal his parents’ company.

He curls into himself, shaking. Jason’s gone, at best trapped in one of the orphanages he tried so desperately to avoid. At worst… His imagination spins out of control, providing him with far too many possibilities for what a corrupt Batman might do with a child who fell into his power.

Jason’s the first person in his life to ever want him as a friend, to care about and look out for him just because he wanted to and not from a sense of duty. He’s his first and best friend, and now he’s gone. Tim closes his stinging eyes.

This is all his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, living in squalor with Jason:** *Enjoys family meals together, time at the library, and discovering the wonders of freeganism* “This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life”  
>  **Jason, an actual street child:** “That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard” *Piles more blankets on him*  
>  **Tim, finally starting to hope he can have this:** “Maybe—” *Watches in horror as Jason disappears into the same tangled conspiracy that took his parents, immediately blames self* “This is why I can’t have nice things”


End file.
